The Door

by Equimorto

a

It was rather bothersome at that point.

She'd tried to catch it, so to speak. Round a corner slowly, be mindful of her head movements. But the door had ways to defend itself, it seemed. Or perhaps she was simply growing paranoid.

A comic book left on the ground by Spike making her slip. The tablecloth getting caught in her hooves. A sound at the door or at the window, or the crystal floor being too slippery, or even a sudden sneeze.

The door was doing it on purpose. But that made no sense. And she knew it. Much more simply, she was getting too caught up to pay attention to her surroundings. Logically, at least.

She had no idea how water had ended up on the kitchen's floor, and she was sure that she'd walked there while coming in. And she remembered the knives being somewhere else. But after that unrequested manecut she'd decided to give up on it, she was clearly taking her obsession too far.